Perspective
by DemonSurfer
Summary: Nothing had changed. It only took being on the outside to see it. One-shot.


**A/N:** This is the final flashfic, in the same sequence as "Heritage" and "Leader". Originally it was the first, but I suppose it functions better as the last entry.

For me, Skyfire is a horribly tragic figure. He recovered from a terrible accident to find that just about everyone he's ever known is dead, his home has been destroyed, his former partner is someone he barely recognizes, and the only people who will take him in force him to fight in a war he doesn't believe in. There is no way for things to get 'better' for him, as there's nothing left. There is also my own personal headcanon about shuttles being part of the oppressed caste, typecast into transport roles by groundframes and resenting them for it.

As this is a one-shot I'd like to thank in advance everyone who reads, reviews, and favorites!

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::How can you stand it?::

The minibot chuckled, a hollow sound that was swallowed up by the void of space around the two shuttles. Skyfire couldn't help the frown that pulled at the corners of his mouth, something that made Cosmos chuckle again. When the minibot spoke his voice was muted by an emotion Skyfire knew intimately.

Resignation.

::You make it sound as if I had a choice in the matter. I am an Autobot because there was nothing else for me.::

Above them, or perhaps below them, the sphere of the planet hung like a glittering jewel, its surface a pristine white and blue that no artist's brush could replicate. Skyfire ignored it. There were countless planets in the vastness of the universe, and this one was no more remarkable in appearance than any of them. Its only notable quality was the presence of life, though it was only an organic, primitive sort of life. Instead he watched Cosmos hunch his shoulders up, as if protecting himself from Skyfire, or the truth. Or perhaps both.

::I can't fight, therefore the Decepticons didn't want me. I'm not the quickest or smartest 'bot, so I wouldn't survive as a Neutral.:: The minibot looked down, gaze focused on his leg as he picked a tiny particle of debris out of his knee joint. ::I became an Autobot because I wanted to live, even if I'd never be free again.::

Skyfire nodded solemnly, settling back against the ragged asteroid. Sharp points dug into his plating, but he ignored the discomfort. He couldn't ignore Cosmos' next comment, however.

::It's worse for you, though, isn't it?:: He started in surprise, looking over at the other shuttle. What little was exposed of Cosmos' face was crinkled up in an understanding smile, an attempt to be reassuring. ::I mean, you were _something_ before all of this. You were a _scientist_. You didn't allow them to force you into the same box as the rest of us.::

::And what did that get me?:: Skyfire's voice was sharp, sharper than he intended, and he felt a stirring of guilt as the minibot flinched at the tone. The irritation was deep, though, a smoldering anger that had never left him from the moment he was truly freed from the ice, and even the thought of his companion's feelings couldn't stop it. ::A taste of freedom and a lifetime of imprisonment. Of service. Of being a fragging _taxi_.::

The minibot remained silent, watching as Skyfire's frame tensed up with the impotent rage that bit and clawed at his pacifism and self-restraint.

Shuttles were transport. Every groundframe knew that. Thus there had been surprise and outrage when a shuttle and a Seeker, a transport vessel with all the intelligence of a non-sentient ship and a military model with even less, had dared to call themselves scientists. To travel unassisted to other planets and explore them for the greater Cybertronian good. To rise above their station in life.

It was ironic, he supposed, that the niche he had carved out in his life had ultimately been his undoing. Because if he hadn't been an explorer, he would have never lost his life to ice, awakening to a world that had all but forgotten Skyfire and seeing him as it had always seen him. A shuttle. Transport.

A fragging taxi.

::Do you think they know?:: The minibot looked over at Skyfire, watching as he gestured towards the planetary sphere. He wasn't seeing it, however, but a harsh and lifeless desert, punctuated by a gold sentinel that was foreign as the travelers it had brought to the young planet. ::Do they even realize what they've done, what they're _still_ doing?::

It was curious, that over the millions of years he had been a scientist, clawing his way to a position of respect and recognition, he had never felt the weight of the caste system as strongly as he did now. That only after his life had been stolen, taken by some pathetic backwater planet unlucky enough to be infested by Cybertron's squabbling children, should he feel the pain and restriction of expectations and tradition.

It had sparked a fire in him, a deep smoldering hatred that ate at his infinite patience. The anger was only fed by the so-called _Prime_, a military leader and a groundframe in all sense of the word. A leader who could only see the world divided into wheels and wings, of drive and flight, and could not be bothered to understand just _why _his enemy continued to fight.

The caste system had not been abolished. It had been patched up, shined up, so that a casual glance gave the impression of tolerance and hope for all frame types. It was a new coat of paint on a rusting wing, a false promise built on an already fractured concept.

In the end, nothing had changed in the slightest.

An incoming comm. appeared in his HUD, a message from the planet that lay before them and the false god that held his leash. With a snarl Skyfire rejected the connection, burying the signal so he wouldn't have to listen to it again. Beside him the minibot chuckled again, frame shaking in quiet mirth as he patted his larger companion on the arm.

::'_May Primus look favorably on you and hold you close to His spark, and let us one day meet again when all are one._'::

The prayer, as old as the first explorers, faded into silence. The planet continued to turn, undisturbed by the joy and sorrow of the creatures that found refuge on its surface. A bright streak, similar in appearance to a shooting star, danced across the barest rim of its atmosphere before it shot like a loosed arrow into the never-ending night.


End file.
